


In the Dark

by 16woodsequ



Series: Steve Rogers Has PTSD [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Claustrophobia, Fear of confined spaces, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Joseph Rogers' A+ Parenting, Nyctophobia, Panic Attacks, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, fear of the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16woodsequ/pseuds/16woodsequ
Summary: Joseph Rogers may or may not have been a terrible father, and Steve may or may not dislike small, dark places as a result.Thankfully, that isn't something he has to deal with much as Captain America.For the most part.Hydra bases really suck.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Steve Rogers Has PTSD [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124492
Comments: 22
Kudos: 119





	In the Dark

Steve is not a fan of small, dark places.

To be fair, that really isn’t a problem for him, at least, not anymore.

He doesn’t really have to _deal_ with small, dark places as Captain America. For one thing, everything just seems to be _bigger_ in the twenty-first century, which is a bonus for him, and for another thing, Tony’s Tower in New York isn’t really designed with ‘small’ and ‘dark’ in mind.

So really, small and dark places are not really a problem.

…Except on missions.

To be fair, this mission hadn't _started_ out with ‘small’ and ‘dark’ in the premise. Although, it _had_ been a Hydra base raid, so he probably should have been expecting _some_ sort of complication. In his defense though, they had been pretty sure the base was an abandoned one. From what they could tell, Hydra hadn't used the old base for at _least_ a decade, and the ‘raid’ was really more of a see-if-they-happened-to-leave-behind-anything-useful-and-also-make-sure-it-is-as-abandoned-as-we-think-it-is.

Because of the base’s abandoned status though, they hadn't sent in the whole team. The base is so old and forgotten that it is unlikely they will find anything at this point — even booby traps — so he had sent the rest of the team off to investigate a few other more or less dead sites, while he and Tony had gone to tackle the abandoned base.

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone has been home in a while,” Tony notes, the lights of his Iron Man helmet shining down on the dusty floor of the cement bunker. He kicks a little at the dust, and he keeps his palm repulsors pointed out in front of him, but he has them up mostly for light, rather than in the off-chance that something will try to attack them.

As he glances around, Steve can’t help but agree. The dust on the floor is several inches deep in some places, although the dark of the entrance around them doesn’t give him much of a view for the rest of the base, so he can’t be sure if the entire thing is as abandoned as it seems.

“Think it still has power?” he asks, glancing up at the darkened lightbulb above them. Searching an abandoned Hydra base in the dark is not high on his list of enjoyable activities, so if the place still has a functioning electricity system, then that would be appreciated.

Next to him, Tony shrugs and mutters something about taking a scan. Steve nods and tries to stand patiently as he waits for the man to finish, shifting his shield a little in his grip as he waits in the small circle of light Tony’s suit provides.

“I think I found the circuit box,” Tony announces finally, turning to glance off to the right, the thin light of his arc reactor shining dimly down the hallway. “If I can get that up and working, then we’ll have light while we search.”

He nods again, squinting down the darkened hallway as he thinks. “Did your scans pick up any unpleasant surprises Hydra might have left behind for anyone snooping around after they abandoned ship?” he asks, because while he may be a fan of working lights, walking down a creepy hallway in the dark to get to the circuit box isn’t exactly an appealing idea— especially since he has no way of knowing what Hydra may have left lurking in the corners.

But, Tony shakes his head. “Looks clear to me,” he says, as he takes a step towards the hall, his suit kicking up dust as he walks. “’Course, this whole thing is a cement _monster,_ so JARVIS may have missed a few things. Keep an eye out.”

Steve lets out a little sigh at that, but nods, stepping after Tony and letting the man lead them both down the hall, their steps echoing dully off the concrete as they walk.

“I better not find any mutant spiders down here or something,” he hears Tony grumble, the man sounding distinctly unamused as he kicks away more dust and cobwebs from his suit as he walks. “Hydra I can handle. Lord of the Rings wannabees, not so much.”

His mouth quirks up at that, and he lets out a chuckle that very quickly turns into a cough. Serum or not, his lungs don’t exactly appreciate the dusty interior of the abandoned base, and the light from Tony’s suit shines on him as the man glances his way, his eyes bright in the darkness.

“You good?” he asks, his eyes scanning over him. “Do I need to scan the dust to see if Hydra left behind any ‘friendly’ surprises?”

He almost laughs again at that – because part of him wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Hydra had left behind some sort of micro-weapon in the dust of their base, it seems like the overly complicated paranoid thing they would do. But, he shakes his head and waves a hand in front of his face.

“I’m fine,” he says, clearing his throat and letting out another low cough. “It is just the dust.”

Of course, his words do nothing for the fact that his heart rate kicks up a notch as he walks, his palms beginning to sweat slightly as he coughs again, his eyes flicking around the dark hallway as he resists the urge to glue himself to Tony and his circle of light.

 _It is dark and dusty, but it isn’t_ small, he reminds himself sharply, gritting his teeth as he tightens his grip on his shield and shoves away thoughts of rough wood and old wardrobes.

Dark, but not small. That is important. The base itself may not be very big, but the hallway he and Tony walk down is certainly not narrow — if the sound of their echoing footsteps is anything to go by.

Dark but not small. Dark but not small. That is what he has to focus on, and— and besides, soon Tony will have the lights fixed, and then all he will have to deal with is the dust and— and the serum will deal with that. He can’t even _get_ asthma attacks anymore.

That is what he tells himself as he swallows and tries to ignore his pounding heart, his eyes fixed continually on the circle of light that Tony’s suit casts. In all honesty, he should probably be keeping an eye out for booby traps, or other Hydra surprises, but he finds that if he tries to squint too long into the darkness that his hands start to get shaky, so he doesn’t do that.

Eventually, he and Tony get to the end of the hallway to see what looks like a great big grey metal box. It is latched shut, but not locked, and Steve settles himself down to guard Tony’s back as the man pulls it open to take a look at what they are dealing with.

Because he is facing away from Tony, most of the light from his suit is facing away from him _as well_ , but that very much _is not_ a problem, because he can _handle_ dark places. He can. He had infiltrated Azzano in the dark all by himself to find Bucky. He has run countless nighttime missions. He can _handle_ the dark.

It is just, dark, small, dusty places that he doesn't like.

 _Not small,_ he reminds himself, because that is _important,_ and because he really can’t afford to be dealing with this right now, in the middle of an abandoned Hydra base.

Behind him, Tony lets out a hum as he works, and he finds his shoulders relaxing slightly as the man begins to mumble a running commentary to himself as he tries to fix the breakers in the circuit box. He will admit that having Tony here helps. Just hearing him move around in his suit reminds him that he is not alone, and that also, he is very much _not_ in a small, dark, dusty place.

His brain tries to helpfully pull up a memory of when he _had_ been in a place like that and he shoves it back, gritting his teeth stubbornly as he clutches his shield tighter.

 _No_ , he thinks, because that had been years and _years_ ago, and he is _not_ dealing with it right now.

“There!” Tony announces suddenly, and he almost flinches at the loud noise. He _doesn’t_ though, and a second later, his ears are greeted by the low hum of ancient lights forcing themselves online, the hall around him lighting up with a yellow glow as the system comes up.

He can’t help relaxing at the influx of light. It reveals nothing more than the dank grey walls of the cement around them, but he can already feel his pulse begin to slow as the dark dissipates, and he loosens his grip on his shield, sucking in a slow breath as he looks back towards Tony.

If he weren’t wearing the helmet, Tony would probably be grinning at him, proud of the fact that he had managed to get the lights back on, after who knows how many years of neglect. He keeps his helmet on though, so Steve doesn’t get to see any of it.

Instead, he gets reminded of _why_ Tony might be keeping his helmet on, as his calming breath quickly turns into another cough, the dust from Tony’s work with the circuit box still hanging in the air.

He can practically _feel_ Tony scan him as he coughs, and he waves his hand at him. “I’m fine,” he says, before Tony can even say anything (and he _is_ fine, because the lights are on. He can handle the dust, as long as it isn’t in the _dark_.) “Let’s just get this over with.”

He is glad at least, that the base doesn't seem to be too big. From the looks of it, most of the base had been centered around a main chamber. The place is just as empty and dusty as the rest, old wooden tables and chairs sitting in rows under the yellow light from the ceiling.

“I bet there was a bunch of computers here once,” Tony tells him, the man running a finger along one of the desks as he scans the room. “Looks like they cleared all of that out of here when they left though.”

He can’t help agreeing, and he sighs. He knew finding anything useful here had been a long shot when he had come, but he had still been hoping they might find _something._ Things continue to be decidedly unhelpful though, as he and Tony exit the main chamber and begin to explore the hallways leading away from it.

There are a few more empty offices, the wooden desks not only dusty, but holding nothing useful. They move on, and at one point, they actually find what must have been the public washrooms. They search that place too, looking for any secret hiding places, but all they find are mouse droppings and spiderwebs.

Their search is almost over, when they come across a heavy metal door at the end of a hallway. “Looks like a fire door,” Tony mutters as he scans it. He glances over at him, the lights of his helmet bright, even in the yellow light of the bunker. “I wonder if it was protecting anything important?”

“Let’s hope,” he replies, shrugging his shoulder as he eyes the door in front of them. “Can you get it open?”

Beside him, Tony looks back towards the door and takes a step forward, running his hand over the metal wheel that is the handle. He tugs on it, and the metal lets out a shriek as it turns. Steve can’t help wincing and taking a step back, his serum-enhanced hearing not really appreciating the cries of the severely neglected door.

“Huh,” Tony says, and he glances up as the man pulls the door open. “It’s not locked.”

Looking back, that probably should have been a red flag, but as it is, he just steps forward with Tony, flicking his eyes over the small room inside. The yellow light of the bunker buzzes and shines down on two narrow rows of metal shelving, ancient dusty boxes sitting forgotten and scattered along the shelves.

“Looks like a storage room or something,” Tony says quietly, and he nods in agreement, a sense of relief washing over him at the hope that they may not have come all this way for nothing after all.

“This looks more promising,” he says, as he steps into the room. “I wonder if they kept any of their computer files in hardcopy?”

Of course, if Hydra had been careful enough to take the computers with them when they had left, then he imagines they would have taken any important hardcopies with them too, but, he can hope.

Tony only hums in response to him, the man probably already come to a similar conclusion as to the likelihood of them finding anything useful. Still, they have to _check,_ and he steps in after him, the shelves of the storage room towering over them as they stand in the narrow aisle.

The storage room isn’t exactly _small,_ but the shelves take up most of the space, and he finds that there isn’t enough room for him and Tony to stand shoulder to shoulder between the shelves, and he has to turn sideways so that the man can get past him.

“You know,” Tony gripes as he reaches for a nearby box. “I bet this is the perfect place for mutant Hydra spider eggs to be hiding. I’m going to be so _pissed_ if—”

He pulls the box towards him, and no mutant spiders make themselves known. Instead, the door behind them swings shut with a resounding _clang_. The light above them flickers, and dust drifts down lightly from the ceiling at the force of the blow. He freezes as he hears a click, his enhanced hearing very helpfully informing him that _now_ the door is most _definitely_ locked.

Beside him, Tony curses and drops his hold on the box, the man squeezing past him to take a look at the door, his gauntlets running over the metal as he scans it. “It’s locked,” he confirms, looking back at him, the glow of his helmet eyes picking up motes of dust in the air as they float by. “D’you think it was some kind of booby trap?”

For his part, Steve forces himself to suck in a slow breath and relax his grip on his shield, unclenching his fist as he settles down from his initial reaction to the door closing. “Wouldn’t be surprised,” he grumbles, glancing around the room and trying to ignore how much _smaller_ it feels now with the door closed. “Makes me wonder if there really _is_ anything important in here.”

Behind him, Tony hums in agreement, the man turning to scan the door again. “Well,” he says cheerily, raising his repulsor and waving it slightly. “Lucky for us, I come prepared. The door looks pretty thick, but it shouldn’t take too long for me to cut us out of here. Ten minutes tops.”

Steve nods, but the spark of relief he feels at that mostly gets swallowed up amid the growing anxiety that twists around in his stomach. His heart is pounding again, the sound of it particularly loud in his ears as he glances around at all the boxes on the shelves.

Even if Tony manages to get the door open, they will still have to go through all the boxes — if only to figure out what Hydra is hiding, and if any of the other boxes are booby trapped to shut the door too—

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he swallows dryly, his breath feeling a little thin in his chest as he breathes in, his knees locking under him as he straightens his shoulders determinedly.

“Let’s go through the boxes first,” he says, looking back over at Tony. “It’ll be faster with both of us doing it, and then we can get out of here sooner.”

He is not exactly sure if his decision is completely logical — but logic actually seems a little difficult to grasp right now — and Tony doesn't object, the man only shrugging slightly as he stands upright and comes back over to look at the boxes lining the shelves.

“If there are any mutant spider eggs, I won’t forgive you,” he says flatly, and Steve manages a smile at that, the muscles of his face feeling tight and strained as he grits his teeth and turns to pull at the box nearest to him.

It is dirty work, and he shifts his shield onto his back as he rifles through the boxes of old Hydra records. The dust is thick and grimy, but he gets to comfort himself with the fact that every box finished is one step closer to getting _out_ of the closet and _out_ of the Hydra base.

So far, their search hasn’t come up with anything except for a few potential base sites for them to follow up on. He sets those papers aside for Tony to scan and document, and he turns his focus onto one of the last boxes on the higher shelves.

It sits just above his head, and he reaches for it, dust bunnies clinging to the sides as he tugs on it, his nose wrinkling as dust drifts down. A cough builds up in his chest and he clenches his jaw, trying to breathe shallowly as he pulls the box to the edge of the shelf.

He just needs to get the box down and then he can cough. If he isn't careful, then he might drop the box and with his luck it will be the one that has long forgotten weapons, or mutant spider eggs, or something equally unpleasant to deal with inside a locked storage closet.

As it is, the box tilts towards him and he reaches up with his other hand to grab it— and then the light overhead flicks off with a sudden abruptness that plunges the whole room into choking darkness.

His whole body freezes, his breath catching and his eyes widening as he stiffens, the sound of his pulse doubling in his ears as he stares into the inky blackness. He forgets all about the box, and it over-balances, slipping from his lax grip and falling to the floor with a sudden _bang_.

He can’t help flinching away at the noise this time, his breath frozen in his lungs and his hands cold and shaky in front of him as Tony curses at the unexpected sound, the man’s suit rattling as he turns to him.

Except— except the curse doesn’t help anything, and Steve is already flinching away from him, his breath making up for lost time as it bursts out in a ragged gasp, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as he sucks in another breath and—

And coughs, because of _course_ the falling box had shaken loose another cloud of dust. He can’t see it anymore, of course, and it wouldn’t _matter_ except now he is busy coughing out his lungs in a dark, cramped space, and his serum-enhanced memory _very_ much remembers this and he—

— _he brings his tin soldiers into the living room to play. Ma isn't home from her shift yet, and Pa is still out, so he is free to use the radio as an intense mountain range for his men to climb over. The knobs of the radio become death-defying stunts for his men to overcome, and he mutters narration under his breath as the crew works on climbing up the sides._

_At last, Sergeant Miller manages to crest the top of the radio box, and soon he and his men are forming chains so that they can all drag themselves to the top. “I’m slipping!” he announces, as he mimes the flailing of one of his soldiers (the one with the crumpled foot. Pa had stepped on it once, but it doesn’t matter, because all of his other tin soldiers make sure he doesn’t fall behind.)_

_Instantly, the rest of his tin soldiers rush forward to drag the slipping soldier back up on top of the radio, and the game soon shifts into miming artistic swan dives and frantic chain rescues between the soldiers, his voice shifting between octaves as he pretends to shout out orders from the commanders._

_His fingers jerk, and he drops one of the falling men as the front door slams shut, and he finds his heart pounding a little harder as he hears the distinctive sounds of Pa, the man grumbling under his breath as he struggles to free himself from his jacket._

_His stomach clenches at that, because it is clear from his difficulties that Pa has been drinking while he was out, and he lets out a quiet breath as he listens to the man stumble his way into the kitchen._

_His lips press together as he reaches down to pick up his fallen soldier, his eyes flicking back towards his room. Part of him wants to slip back inside, but before that, he will have to pick up all his soldiers, and by then Pa will definitely see him, and Pa doesn’t like it if it looks like he is running away–_

_Before he can think any further on the matter, the man himself steps through the kitchen, a newspaper clutched in his hand and a foul expression on his face as he makes his shaky way to the sagging couch next to the lamp._

_He keeps his eyes on his soldiers as Pa passes, but he remains attune to the man as he moves. Pa doesn’t even throw him a glance though, the man letting out a groan as he sits down, a flutter of paper accompanying his movements as he flicks the paper open._

_He relaxes slightly at that, letting out a quiet breath as he turns back to his toys. Maybe if he is careful, he can just play quietly for a while. It shouldn’t be too long before Ma comes home, and as long as supper is on time, Pa isn’t usually too bad._

_So he turns back to his game. It is a little more subdued for a while, because he can’t quite forget the man sitting behind him a few feet away, but eventually, he manages to relax a little more and focus on his game. His background narration grows a little louder as he gets lost in the narrative again, Sergeant Miller busy trying to convince Pete that the drop down to the channel knob actually_ isn’t _that far, and that they need to find cover before the enemy spots them cuz—_

_“Steve,” the deep, rasping voice cuts into his play, and he jerks his head immediately over to the couch, Pa’s eyes scowling at him from over the top of the paper. “Quiet.”_

_He nods mutely, his hands tight on Sergeant Miller. “Yes, Pa,” he whispers, before swallowing and turning back to his game._

_After that, he tries even harder to be quiet. He keeps most of his internal monologue to himself, and even the sounds of explosions and gunfire as his soldiers fight hardly grows above a whisper, but he must get too loud again because—_

_“Steve!”—_

“Steve,” someone says, and something touches him, and he flinches away, his breath tight in his lungs as he stumbles over something and finds himself on the ground, his knee complaining sharply as he lands hard, his arms climbing up to shield his head as he cringes away and tries to breathe.

“Sorry,” he finds himself mumbling, between coughs. “Sorry I—”

— _“Shut up,” Pa hisses at him, and he tries not to whimper as the man’s grip digs into his arm. He can’t stop the noise that leaves him as the man jerks him along, his angry steps echoing down the hall as they head back towards his room._

_“Sorry,” he tries to say again, his breath hitching fearfully in his lungs as he pulls back. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet, please–"_

_“Shut_ up!” _Pa says again, and he flinches as the grip on his arm grows tighter and the man gives him a shake. “How many times do I gotta tell ya, huh? Is it too much to ask for some peace and quiet ‘round here sometimes?”_

_He can hear the exasperation in his voice, and he can smell the alcohol on him, and his feet stumble over themselves as he gets dragged along, his breath thin and frantic in his chest as Pa stops clumsily in front of his room, his free hand fumbling for the door._

_He is shaking as he tries to tug at the fingers wrapped around his arm, and his breath feels tight and painful in his lungs as he breathes. “Pa, please–”_

_Pa growls and doesn’t say anything as he manages to get the door open, his eyes bloodshot and hard as he drags them both through, his gaze fixating on the wardrobe nestled in the corner of the room._

_His heart spasms at the sight and he tries to pull back again, a sob breaking past his lips as he shakes his head. “No, please. I’m sorry–”_

(“Steve,” someone tries to say.)

_Pa wrenches the door to the wardrobe open, and there isn’t much inside besides his Sunday suit and his school clothes, but the space is cramped and narrow, the smell of old wood and dust reaching his nose as he is dragged forward._

_“Pa–”_

_Pa doesn’t even say anything as he shoves him in. He trips on the edge of the wardrobe, and his knee throbs as he lands and skins it on the old wood, his hands receiving the same treatment as they fly out to catch himself before he can hit the back of the wardrobe._

_He doesn’t even have time to turn before the door slams shut behind him, and he hears Pa stumble slightly as he fumbles at the lock. The key turns — and he really wishes he could get rid of it, but Pa would get mad at him if he thought he was hiding it, so it always stays in the lock, no matter what — and his breath catches as he is shut up into the dark, narrow space, his lungs straining as he tries to regulate his breathing._

_“Wait–” he gasps out, and he flinches as Pa kicks at the door, his hands climbing up to clutch at his shirt as he tries to breathe. The rough fabric of his Sunday suit brushes against his head, and he hunches away, the dangling clothes making the space feel smaller as he closes his eyes against the darkness._

_He can hear Pa turn to leave, but he can’t even work up the breath to call out after him anymore, because his chest hurts and he can’t_ breathe—

“Steve,” someone says, and he becomes aware of his own tight grip on his uniform, his breath straining and hitching in his throat as he sits hunched on the floor, clutching at his chest. “Steve hey, com’on––Okay, okay, JARVIS, what do I–?”

Something moves next to him, and he flinches away, his stomach rolling and his eyes flying open as his breath catches, his hands shaking as he stares into the darkness and… blinks. It isn’t dark— at least, not all the way, there— there is a spot of light in front of him, a bright white light— the light so bright it almost blinds him, the rest of the room completely faded out and hidden in the face of the single white light in front of him.

It moves slightly and he jerks, reaching for it frantically, afraid suddenly that it will leave or— or turn off, or _something,_ and his hand hits something hard, the light encased in something clear and— and slightly warm.

His breath stutters as he runs his hand over the light, his eyes wide and completely fixed on the solitary point of brightness in front of him. The light stops moving as he touches it, although he can feel the minute vibrations of something seemingly attached to it as he presses his hand against the edges of the circle of light.

The warmth of the small light is welcome, and he finds that he doesn’t much care what the vibrations are, or where the light comes from. All he really cares about is the light, and keeping it there with him as long as possible, because everything else is so dark, and cold, and—

The shadows shift and he flinches slightly as a hand comes up to gently rest on his, the metal gauntlet drawing his gaze as he tries to even out his breathing again. “Steve,” someone says, and he jerks his gaze up to see Tony, the man’s face free of his helmet as he stares down at him, his eyes filled with concern.

Right, Tony is here, because— because he is, somewhere. Somewhere in the dark, and the light— the light is Tony’s too—

“Hey,” Tony says quietly, and Steve’s eyes drop down to the light again, able to recognise now that it is centered in Tony’s chest, the man’s hand still resting on his as he looks at him. “Hey,” he says again. “You’re okay, Steve. You’re alright.” His hand tightens slightly on his, and the light moves as he breathes. “Can you tell me what happened back there? What’s wrong?”

He sucks in a breath, his mouth dry as he swallows, and his hand – the one not currently glued to the white light – tugs slightly at his uniform as he shudders. “Locked,” he manages, his vision narrowing slightly as he breathes. “Please, can I— can I come out now? Please, I wanna—”

His voice chokes off and he shudders again, Tony’s hand tightening on his as he cringes, his breath turning ragged again as he curls in on himself.

“Okay, okay,” Tony is saying, and he finds his gaze once again fixating on the white light of his arc reactor, his whole hand pressing along the edge of it as if by doing so he can drag the light into his own body. “I can unlock the door Steve,” Tony says, his other hand raising slightly as he looks down at him. “Remember, I have lasers and repulsors so—”

The light shifts and tries to move _away_ , and he lets out a strangled noise, his heartbeat skyrocketing as he lurches forward along with it, his nails digging into the metal next to the light as he tries to keep it from leaving.

“No, no, no, please no,” he hears himself saying, his breath loud and frantic again as he stares at the light. “No, please don’t go– please, I’m sorry– I’m sorry—”

The light stops immediately and his hand shakes as it shifts back towards him, Tony’s hand pressing down on his again as though he too wants to press the light into his palm. “Alright,” he hears him say, the barest hint of panic in his voice as he talks to him. “Alright, okay. Breathe Steve.”

He sucks in a breath at the command, and as he breathes out, it feels as though his whole body is shaking, his very bones seeming to rattle as he tries to breathe, his hand and his eyes continually pinned to the small point of light in Tony’s chest.

“Good,” he hears Tony say. “Keep— keep doing that.”

He does, and he can hear Tony breathing too, the light moving slightly along with his breaths, his hand still on his as he presses it to his chest. “Okay,” he hears him mutter, his hand flexing slightly on his. “What’s wrong, Steve? I need to get up to laser the door, it’ll just be a minute.”

He shakes his head at that, his fingers curling as he digs his nails into Tony’s armour again. “’’s too dark,” he manages. “Please don’t– Please—”

Tony’s hand shifts on his again, and he cuts off, panting slightly as he stares hard at the light, willing it to stay. “Dark, okay,” Tony says, the man settling slightly in front of him. “Okay, I can deal with that, just a minute.”

In front of him, his free hand raises, and Steve blinks as Tony’s palm lights up as well, the repulsor on his palm adding a little more light to the scene as Tony flicks his eyes over him. “I gotta get to the door, Steve,” he says, and Steve flicks his eyes up to meet his gaze, his mouth dry as Tony shifts a little closer. “You can come with me, and I can keep the light up, but we gotta get to the door.”

He swallows uneasily at that, but nods. He can remember vaguely that the door is locked, but that Tony can fix it, and as long as he doesn’t take the light _away_ , then things will be okay. He will be okay, as long as he _doesn’t have to sit in the dark._

“Okay,” Tony says, the man’s tongue darting out anxiously to lick at his lips. “Okay. So, we’re going to stand up, alright? We’ll stand up to get to the door.”

He nods mutely, his breath hitching slightly as Tony slowly lowers both his hands so that he is gripping at his elbows. “Alright, so I’m going to stand now,” he says, and he shifts back slightly, the light swaying as he gets up from his knees and tugs him up too, his grip tight but not— but not painful on his arms.

Steve stumbles as he stands, his arm jerking out of Tony’s grip for a second as he sways and fumbles for the light again, doing his best to make sure that it is still there, solid and warm in Tony’s chest. He relaxes slightly after he runs his fingers around the edges of the light, and Tony lifts his newly freed hand to shine his repulsor over the rest of the darkened room.

“The door is that-a-way,” he says, glancing back over at him. “We just gotta get over there, and then we’ll be almost home free.”

His lips press together, and he nods again, his hand shaking slightly as he sucks in a tight breath. Tony takes a slow step forward, and he shuffles along with him, his hand shifting up to clutch at Tony’s arm as he flicks his eyes up from the light, to Tony’s repulsor, and then back again.

“Almost there,” Tony mutters as he carefully guides him around a few scattered papers, the man’s eyes darting between him and the door a few times, his face pale in the dim light. “Almost there.”

It doesn’t take long to get to the door, the closet is _small_ after all, and he watches as Tony shines his repulsor over the metal door, a calculating expression on his face as he analyses it. “Okay,” he says, looking back at him, his chin raising with projected confidence. “A door is no stronger than it’s hinges. All I gotta do is melt through those, and then we can get out to the quinjet. We’ll be okay.”

He nods at that, his bones still feeling shaky and his stomach rolling with bitter nausea as he keeps his eyes on the light in Tony’s chest, his hands squeezing at the metal of his suit as the man edges a little closer to the door’s hinges.

Next to him, Tony lets out a low breath and raises both his hands, his one arm shifting a little in Steve’s grip to shine his repulsor upwards in a glow of light, and his other hand raising to aim his repulsor at the top hinge of the door.

The repulsor beam is blindingly bright, and he can’t actually look at it as Tony begins to slowly pass his hand over the metal hinge. Instead, he has to drop his gaze down to the idle repulsor, his entire being focusing down on the pool of light, the sound of Tony’s repulsor filling his ears as he works.

“First one down,” he hears him murmur almost comfortingly, his free repulsor remaining steady as he bends slightly to reach the second hinge. “Two to go.”

It doesn’t take long for Tony to work his way through the hinges, and soon, all three are sawed through. Tony lets out a breath as he finishes, the light from his suit swooping wildly as he stands fully upright and looks at him, the room a dark looming shadow behind him.

“Okay, I’m going to have to push it out now,” he tells him carefully, his eyes flicking over him as though trying to assess his condition. “I’m going to need both hands, it’ll just be a second, okay Steve?”

If he were in the right frame of mind, he would probably be embarrassed at the careful way Tony looks at him, but as it is, all he feels is a cold tightness in his chest as he realises the man is going to be turning away and aiming the light _somewhere else._

“Just for a little bit, okay?” Tony tries to reassure as he slowly extracts his arm from his grip. “And then we’ll be out, okay? Just a little bit.”

And then Tony steps away, his repulsors and his arc reactor turning to face the door as he heaves against it, the door shifting outwards an inch or two with a high _screech_ of protesting metal.

He forgets all about the light and dark for a second, because his serum-enhanced hearing practically _wails_ at the noise, and he finds his hands snapping up to cover his ears, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to block out the noise. Ordinarily, he might be able to handle this kind of thing, but all his senses are on edge right now and the assault is almost too much to bear.

He doesn't exactly know when it stops, but he flinches as he feels something come close to him. Thankfully, Tony doesn’t actually touch him, and he is left to blink and open his eyes to find that he is crouched over again, his knees hunched up to his chest as he presses his hands to his ears.

His hands slip away from his ears though as his eyes focus down on the glowing light in Tony’s chest again. He reaches for it again, and Tony grabs his hand, pulling him up in one quick motion, before guiding his hand to press against his arc reactor.

“Okay, door’s open,” he says, his voice sounding slightly rough as he speaks, his eyes flicking over him. “We can get out now.”

His breath stutters slightly as Tony gently tugs on him, and the man guides him over to the doorway, the door now wrenched open, the metal reflecting dully in the light of Tony’s suit as they step through.

The hallway beyond the door is dark too, so whatever Tony had done with the circuit box must have given out. (Which wouldn’t have been a _problem_ if it hadn't happened while he was busy being locked in a storage closet.)

As it is, he is left to clutch tighter to Tony as the man guides them through the pitch-black hallway. His arc reactor lights up the dust as they walk, and he clicks his helmet back into place, so that the eyes of his suit shine out into the hall as well.

Steve is grateful for the little extra light, but it doesn’t really do much besides illuminate the darkness, making it seem thicker and more oppressive as they walk, plumes of dust kicking up into the air around them.

He coughs and stumbles, unable to hide a wince as Tony’s hand tightens briefly on his arm to steady him. The grip isn’t painful, and it eases almost immediately, but his brain is too close to teetering into memories of the past for him to be fully comfortable with it.

His vision blurs slightly, and he stumbles again, the rest of their trip out of the base not exactly registering. He doesn’t know how long it takes, and he doesn’t know how many twists and turns Tony guides him through until they are back at the entrance, Tony’s hand on his arm as the man pulls him out into the sunlight.

The sudden brightness is painful to his sensitive eyes, and he cringes away from it, his heart in his throat as his eyes squeeze shut and he stumbles blindly after Tony. The sun is at least warm though, and the sound of Tony’s steps on the grass is a welcome relief to the echoing concrete from earlier.

After a few moments, he manages to squint his eyes open again, his breath shaky in his lungs as Tony half-drags, half-guides him over to the quinjet waiting at the edge of the clearing.

“Open ‘er up, JARVIS,” he hears Tony say through his helmet, and the back of the ship opens up, the hangar lowering to let them inside.

The ship is cool, and bright, and familiar, but he finds that he is shaking again as they step inside, his gaze distant and unfocused as Tony helps him settle down into one of the chairs lining the entrance. It is bright enough now that he doesn’t need Tony’s arc reactor to see by, but he still feels a thrill of alarm as the man steps away, his breath catching unsteadily as he is left to sit by himself, his hand coming up to claw at his uniform again as he tries to breathe.

“Hey, hey,” Tony is back again, his helmet retracted and his eyes wide as he crouches next to him. Steve’s eyes flick over him, and he has one of Bruce’s post-Hulk blankets in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other. “Hey, breathe Steve,” he says as he reaches up to drape the blanket around his shoulders. “You’re okay, just breathe.”

He nods jerkily at that, because the command sounds familiar, and he sucks in a breath, Tony watching him with worried eyes as he tries to regulate his breathing. “Good,” Tony tells him, his eyes flicking over him in a scan. “JARVIS says you just gotta breathe like that. Just like that.” He gives him a confirming nod, before reaching over to open the water bottle for him and pass it over.

Steve’s hands shake as he reaches for it, but he manages to swallow down a few mouthfuls, Tony watching him carefully the whole time in case he runs into trouble. The water gives him something else to focus on though, and his breathing evens out a little more as he clutches at his blanket, his head feeling light and dizzy as he comes down from his prolonged panic attack.

In front of him, Tony offers him a strained sort of worried smile and he tries not to wince at it. This is absolutely not what he had wanted to have happen today, and his hand tightens slightly on his water bottle, the plastic crinkling in his hand as his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, glancing away, resisting the urge to curl in on himself. Tony seems to jerk in surprise at him, and his hands dart up as he tries to wave the apology away.

“No. Hey, no. It's fine,” he stutters out, the man obviously uncomfortable in his own right, but doing his best to cover for it. “We made it out alright, so, you know, all’s well that ends well, and all that.”

Steve presses his lips together, still unhappy with the whole situation, and he can feel Tony’s eyes on him, his mind feeling slow and exhausted as he stares off to the side. He hears Tony swallow, and his armour creaks slightly as he shifts subtly towards him, his movements loud in the silence of the ship.

“And you know,” he says quietly, Steve’s eyes focusing determinately on the metal of the floor, his knuckles white as he clutches at the blanket around his shoulders. “You know,” Tony continues. “I wasn’t really too fond of the dark either, when I first came back from Afghanistan.”

He can’t help flinching at the mention of his phobia, and he swallows, his head shaking in denial. “The dark, it’s not— it’s not that bad, except—” he sucks in a breath, and his hand is shaking on his water bottle again. “Except. I just— I just, don’t like small, dark places,” he admits, before beginning to talk himself deeper into a corner.

“My Pa, sometimes he would— if I wasn’t quiet enough or, or something, he would— sometimes he would—” he drags in a shaky breath. “Sometimes— there, there was a wardrobe. In my room. And sometimes he’d— but, but it wasn’t so bad, except, sometimes I’d get worked up, and have an asthma attack, and I couldn’t—”

He chokes off, his eyes wet as he ducks his head and tries to breathe. He hears a clicking noise from Tony’s suit, and he blinks in surprise as he finds the man grabbing his hand. His gauntlet is folded away now, and the warmth of his grip helps to relax his shaking hold on his water bottle, the plastic crinkling sharply as he pulls in another breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears Tony say, and when he looks up, the man’s eyes are soft, and full of a little too much understanding than they probably should be. “He shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly, and Steve can only nod.

“Yeah,” he says thinly, his hand tightening on Tony’s. “Yeah.”

oOo

They don’t talk about it a lot. Tony keeps the incident between the two of them, the man even venturing back into the base once he is sure he is calm enough, to make sure that the base truly doesn’t have anything important to offer them.

That done, they can leave the place in good conscience, and there is no reason to mention the base again to the other Avengers, beyond their initial report.

He is grateful for that, since he really doesn’t want to think of the base — or what had happened in it — any more than he needs to. Even though Tony hadn't said anything — even though he hadn't even seemed to _look_ at him different — he can’t help the deep-rooted shame he feels when he thinks about what had happened.

He had been completely beside himself when the lights had gone off, and it had been entirely up to Tony to get them out of there. Tony had been the one who had had to talk him into standing up and actually letting him open the door because _he_ had been busy hyperventilating and clutching at his arc reactor like his life depended on it.

He would be more embarrassed about it, except for the fact that Tony doesn’t seem to be, the man continuing on with their life in the Tower as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

It is clear that he hasn't forgotten about it though, because about a week after the initial incident, he returns from his morning run to find a small cardboard box in front of his door. His brows furl slightly at the sight, since he hadn't ordered anything recently, and he stoops down to sweep it up as he enters, JARVIS flicking the lights on to his apartment as he goes in.

(He has noticed lately, that JARVIS seems to be rather diligent about the lights now, and he is pretty sure the AI dims them just a little less now at nighttime. It isn’t exactly necessary, but… well, he doesn’t mind it either.)

He sets the package on his kitchen counter once he gets inside, and it doesn’t take long to pull it open, curiosity rising in his chest as he peers inside. At the bottom of the box, nestled next to a yellow sticky note, sits a small, compact flashlight.

His mouth drops open slightly and he reaches for it, his fingers rubbing over the blue metal, before he reaches for the sticky note, his eyes glancing over Tony’s familiar handwriting.

 _This should fit in your utility belt,_ it reads. _Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It’s small, but the light output is still pretty good. It’s waterproof too, so, should last a while. Tell me if it breaks._

He can’t help staring speechlessly at the flashlight, his mind spinning at its implications. He doesn’t really know how he had expected Tony to react to his breakdown, but… but this had not been it.

He isn’t… he isn’t exactly surprised though, and once he is over his initial shock, he is able to set the flashlight down and slip back out of his rooms, his mind set on the one place he is pretty certain Tony will be.

Tony is indeed in his labs when he gets to them, and he watches him for a moment through the glass doors, his mouth dry and his palm sweaty against his pants as he works his way up to pushing open the door and stepping inside.

Tony looks up immediately as he enters, and the man offers him a warm smile, his hair sticking up wildly and a pair of googles pushed up on his head. “Hey, Cap,” he calls, setting aside his soldering iron as he turns to him. “Something I can do for you?”

He shakes his head at that, Tony’s manner putting him slightly more at ease as he offers him his own small smile. “No,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants as he flicks his eyes over Tony. “No, I just wanted to come and thank you… for the flashlight.”

Tony doesn’t even twitch, the man only offering him a casual shrug in response to his approach of the loaded topic. “No problem,” he says, waving his hand and readjusting his goggles slightly. “Should’ve thought to add that in before now, honestly.”

And that is it, Steve realises.

Tony isn’t going to hold his incident against him. Tony had helped him when he had completely broken down, and he is fine with that. Tony had been there when he had been half out of his mind in fear, and now he is simply and quietly trying to help to make sure they don't have to worry about that ever again — and trying to make sure that he can be more comfortable on future missions.

He swallows in sudden gratitude at that, and he breathes in, his hands pressing against his legs. “Thanks,” he says again, and this time he means more than just the flashlight. This time, he means the whole of it, Tony’s efforts to calm him during his initial panic, Tony’s level head as he had figured out how to get them both out of the storage closet, and his quiet understanding afterwards when Steve had been shaken up and stuttering out half-coherent sentences about a man who had lived and died almost a century ago.

In front of him, Tony’s eyes catch onto his, his hands still and lax as he flicks his eyes over him. “Any time,” he says quietly, the look on his face giving Steve the impression that he picks up on the deeper meaning behind his words. “Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed some more Steve hurt/comfort. There aren’t a lot of fics that deal with Steve’s abusive father, but I got this idea in my head, and I couldn’t let it go. 
> 
> Poor guys, good thing Tony was able to help him out.
> 
>  **Art for this story:**  
> [Here](https://secretfanartist.tumblr.com/post/640687866212679681/in-the-dark-16woodsequ-multifandom-archive-of) done by the wonderful [Secretfanartist](https://secretfanartist.tumblr.com/)


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